


A Winter’s Night

by luredin



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, Ficlet, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:26:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luredin/pseuds/luredin
Summary: Just a wistful bit of pre-war cuddling to warm a winter night.





	A Winter’s Night

The night was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, or however the saying went. Bucky didn’t much know or care at the moment because all he could think about were _his_ balls, which were attempting to climb back into his body as yet another gust of icy wind buffeted him. _Fucking New York_. _Fucking January_. He squinted as he climbed the steps to the apartment, wet snow clinging to his eyelashes, turning his vision into a kaleidoscope of crystalline fragments. Pulling his coat tighter, he scrambled with his free hand to find his key in his pocket. Before he could get at it, though, the door to the apartment swung open wide.

“Jesus, Buck!” Steve exclaimed at the sight of him, reaching out for a fistful of overcoat with which to drag Bucky inside. His hands were a flurry of motion as he elbowed the door shut behind him and continued to brush the wintry cold from off Bucky’s shoulders and chest and arms. “You’re covered in snow.” 

“No shit. Have ya taken a look outside lately?” Bucky brushed his damp hair out of his eyes and attempted to swat Steve’s over-zealous pawing away. 

“Been inside all day,” Steve muttered. “Ya need to get outta these wet clothes, Buck.” 

Bucky let his eyes adjust to the dim light of their apartment. The light was shadowy, but not dark enough that Bucky didn’t notice the brand-spanking-new shiner Steve was sporting over his right cheekbone—that hadn’t been there when Bucky’d left for work in the morning. _Inside all day, my ass_ , Bucky thought as he huffed out of his coat. He’d worry about what Steve’d got up to in awhile. Right now he had bigger concerns. “Fuck. Why’s it so cold in here, Stevie?” 

“Oh, yeah. Um, radiator’s on the fritz again. I gave it a good swift kick but no go.” Steve scratched at the back of his neck and looked away as he talked. “Stove’s on though, and there’s soup. You hungry?” 

“Too cold to eat right now. I’ll look at the heater in a little bit.” 

Steve nodded and moved away from Bucky. His fussing was momentarily stilled as Bucky hung his coat by the door, slipped out of his boots, and headed for the bedroom. Steve’s voice followed him. “S’how’s work?” 

“How’s it ever? Same.” Bucky grunted as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. “You get any sketches done today since your lazy ass didn’t go nowhere?” Bucky tried to keep the smirk out of his voice. 

“Some.” 

Bucky emerged from the bedroom in the thickest flannel pajama bottoms he could find, which wasn’t saying much, and two layers of wool socks. Steve was waiting for him by the sofa, his mother’s best and warmest patchwork quilt held up in front of him. Bucky grinned and flung himself down onto the cushions, and Steve draped the blanket over top of him. He made sure to tuck it snugly into his sides, practically up to his shoulders, so only Bucky’s head was uncovered when he was finished. He stood back to assess his work, and, once satisfied, he nodded to himself and dropped into the seat next to Bucky. 

Bucky closed his eyes and tipped his head back, sighing as the cold began to leech out of his body, to be replaced by the warm heat of the sofa and the blanket and Steve pressed up against his side. After a couple minutes of silence, he opened his eyes and looked over at Steve. His fingers were toying restlessly with the frayed edge of his t-shirt. Bucky studied his face, pale skin and sharp angles. He had inky smudges under his eyes—he was up all night with that cough again—to match the new bruise. His heart clenched inside his chest. “So ya gonna tell me about it or ya gonna make me drag it outta you?” 

Steve kept his eyes squarely locked onto his hands in his lap as he shrugged. “Nothing to tell.” 

“Mmmmhmmm.” Bucky nodded, unconvinced, and elbowed Steve through the blanket, catching the side of his ribs. Steve winced. 

“Try again, buddy.” 

“It was just those punk kids from the corner houses again. Caught ‘em trying to steal Mrs. Abramson’s milk.” 

“Put the fear’a God in ‘em, did ya?” 

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up a fraction. “Well I got Mrs. Abramson’s milk back for her, didn’t I?” 

“Look at you!” Affection welled up inside of Bucky, heating him more thoroughly than any of the layers he was wearing at the moment. He lifted the edge of his quilt cocoon and spread it out over Steve’s lap. “C’mere, punk.” 

“Jerk.” Steve elbowed him back, but sank gratefully against his side, tugging at the quilt until they were both safe and warm underneath its protection. He laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Oh, we cuddlin’ now?” Bucky rolled his eyes in feigned exasperation but didn’t move away. 

“Shut it,” Steve said burrowing closer. “Missed you today.” 

“Miss you every day I’m not here, Stevie,” Bucky whispered back. He pressed a chaste kiss to Steve’s temple and laid his head atop his. “Ya shouldn’t‘ve kicked the radiator though. It’s in bad enough shape without you beatin’ on it more.” 

Steve shrugged under the quilt. “Sometimes I just get so tired of—“ 

“—yeah, I know.” Bucky breathed out softly. The fine hair on Steve’s head tickled his nose. 

“Y’know, out in Hollywood it’s warm three hundred an’ sixty five days a year? They got sunshine all year, Buck. And palm trees, too.” Steve’s voice was wistful. Bucky could tell his eyes were closed. He was already inside his head, dreaming of the ocean and warm salt spray. A place where they didn’t need working heat in their apartment for over half the year. A place where, maybe, Steve wouldn’t always be so sick. Maybe even more than that—maybe there was a place where they could really be themselves. Just like this. 

“Life ain’t like everythin’ ya see in the pictures, pal.” 

“Would be nice, though.” Steve pulled his legs up onto the sofa and curled further into Bucky. His knees rested on Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky slipped a hand over top of them and squeezed. Steve made a contented sound in the back of his throat, and then his stomach growled. 

Bucky laughed. “How ‘bout that soup?” 

“Inna minute,” Steve mumbled against his shoulder. “Stay like this a minute.” 

“Okay.” Bucky pressed another soft kiss to Steve’s head. He let his lips linger longer than he normally would. Things weren’t so bad, considering. Who needed palm trees everyday when they could have this? Bucky sank deeper into his Steve-quilt-cocoon and tugged their bodies closer together. Sure, the days were long, and the nights were cold, but this—he wouldn’t trade this feeling right here for anything in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s now a short companion piece to this, here.


End file.
